Wandering Around Checkerboard Mesa on a Tuesday Afternoon

05/05/26

I drove into Springdale on an empty stomach and purchased a couple bolillo rolls, a bag of trail mix and three big ol' cinnamon rolls. Most of that stuff was for me; the cinnamon rolls were for sharing. What am I, a glutton? Apparently so. I met up with Anner, offered him a cinnamon roll. He declined the offer. Unlike me, he'd responsibly consumed a large, healthy breakfast earlier that morning. I remember saying something like "Are you sure? These things are pretty good!" And he politely declined once again and so we drove off towards the east rim of Zion National Park, me stuffing my face the whole way. 

An excessive amount of carbs and sugar later and we had arrived at our destination: Checkerboard Mesa. We pulled into a small pullout at the base of the famous northeast face, the thing splattered with lines arranged this way and that, not exactly perfect squares but pretty dang close all things considered. I left the last remaining cinnamon roll in the backseat, straightened the tie, and then the two of us set off onto the colorful slickrock, wandering towards a steep looking gully to the south. 

Checkerborad Mesa

Entering the gully; we hiked to the saddle on the right

The itinerary for the day was to wander around and climb as many summits as possible. Checkerboard Mesa was first on the list. One of the most iconic formations in Zion National Park, Checkerboard Mesa is more known for its interestingly patterned northeast face rather its summit. There's a climbing route that directly ascends the face, but, as enticing as it looked, we had to give it a pass since neither one of us had any gear, let alone a rope. And so we were left to wandering east of the mountain, entering a steep, tree-filled, brushy-lookin' gully.

Cool springtime colors, smooth springtime lighting, fresh springtime air. New oak leaves, soft and silky and brilliantly green. Stately pines, rugged cliffs, slippery rocks. What a day, what a day. We trudged up the gully, finding a use trail of sorts. Sometimes it was obvious, sometimes not so much. We decided to follow it most of the way, leaving the gully at one point and side-hillin' it to the east. And then the use trail dumped back into the gully and we kept on trudgin' up and up, the going steep, a wee bit loose. We took frequent breaks, enjoying the peaceful scenery all around us. Kinda reminded me of Lodge Canyon on the approach to Mountain of the Sun. Quiet, secluded, up and away from all the hullabaloo zooming up and down SR-9. And we continued on and hiked through some spacious brush and finally made it to the saddle, views finally opening up to the south, a game camera posted on a tree. We saw it, did some silly poses, and then hiked west, climbing up above the mesa rim. 

Hiking up the gully

View south from the saddle

The use trail petered out once we were atop the mesa rim. Wide, flat, brushy, expansive. Yep. Sure was a mesa top alright. Heading north woulda revealed some pretty awesome views, but we were summit hungry and bounded off to the south to gain the highpoint. A flat, somewhat brushy walk atop the mesa ensued, the views few and far between. Eventually we saw a bump in the distance and figured it to be the highpoint. We climbed up the thing, reached the summit. No benchmark, no register, no footprints, nothing. Just a bunch of scattered rocks and sand and dirt and scraggily pines and decent views of Parunuweap Canyon to the southwest and the slightly taller, more interesting-lookin' "Crazy Quilt Mesa" directly in front of us, rising due west of the summit. We sat down in the shade, drank some water, pointed out various landmarks. And then it was time to go and we retraced our steps back to the saddle and set off to our next destination: Artifact Mesa.

The highpoint

Southwest

"Crazy Quilt Mesa" and the higher peaks of Zion

Heading back down to the saddle, view south

Back at the saddle, we headed east, climbing up some fairly steep terrain to the top of yet another mesa. Unlike Checkerboard, this one was wayyy more flat. Hardly a highpoint to be seen. And so we wandered to the south, careful to avoid patches of cryptobiotic soil, searching for a highpoint of sorts. We saw a slight rise, the top covered with broken, crumbly white rocks. Was this the "summit?" Perhaps. We continued wandering south, heading slightly downhill. Yep. That was the summit alright. Retracing our steps brought us back to the unremarkable place, the views minimal, Checkerboard Mesa dominating most of the scene. We didn't linger too long up there. Onwards to the next objective, the ominously-named "Misery Peak."

Checkerboard Mesa from Artifact Mesa

Heading over to "Misery Peak," seen center

Didn't have no route, didn't have no plan. We saw it in the distance, a brush-bespeckled bump. And we kinda just wandered over there, walking atop the mesa rim, meandering through trees and shrubs the whole way through. And then we descended a bit and entered a land of sagebrush and pine and the rocks sounded like broken shards of pottery and we wandered through the fragrant sage and Anner stuck a piece in his nose so he could smell it with every single breath. And then we began heading up again, walking upon loose dirt and crumbly rock, the brush not too bad, the views beginning to emerge all around us. 

"Misery Canyon"

The East Rim of Zion National Park

Saw "Misery Canyon" off to the south. Saw SR-9, a tiny reddish line cutting through the landscape, cars running along like so many little beetles. Saw the peaks of the east rim, saw the West Temple rising wayyy off over yonder, towering over everything, keeping an eye on things. And we continued up and up and the views diminished and we eventually made it to the wide, flat summit, the thing pretty unremarkable in my opinion. No benchmark, no register, no sign of any recent human visitation. Standing on the summit, not one of us could figure out why this peak earned the moniker of "misery;" the thing was actually quite pleasant truth be told. Perhaps there's another way to reach the summit that's a whole lot worse. Who's to say. We didn't wanna find out.

Instead, we ventured off the summit to the southwest, finding a spot amongst the square-shaped rocks with an excellent view of "Misery Canyon." We sat down, soaked up the ultraviolets. I ate an expired ProBar, Anner munched on some grapes. We lingered a moment or two, talking of various things, the conversation ephemeral, nothing but auditory vibrations slowly spilling from our dry lips and evaporating into the empty air.  

"Misery Peak" summit

A better view of "Misery Canyon"

And then the conversation came to a close and it was time to head on back. We retraced our steps, followed our footprints, boot-skied down the steep parts, took our time on the rocks that sounded like broken shards of pottery. Those things sounded so nice, so nice. Tickled the brain. Made the legs go fuzzy. And we walked into the sage again and then climbed back up atop the mesas and wandered in and amongst the pines. Found a deer skeleton. Stumbled upon a freshly killed rabbit. Thing was just lyin' there with a gash leakin' blood. Not even the flies had found it yet. Whatever killed it had done it very, very recently. Was probably watchin' us right then and there, wishing us to just go away so it could finish its lunch. And that's exactly what we did. 

We breezed on past the dead rabbit, climbed back down to the saddle, picked up the use trail, followed it through brush and trees and silky green oak leaves and dust and dirt. And we lost it for a minute, side-hillin' just a tad too high. But no matter. Slid on back down into the gully, following it the rest of the way to the pullout. 

Heading back down the use trail...

Into the gully...

Threw the packs in the car. Sat down. Drank some water. I grabbed the cinnamon bun. Thing smelled damn good. I offered it to Anner. The man still declined. "How about half?" "Nope." "Alright, it's going away forever." And I shoved it down my gullet and we drove off down the road, finding another pullout and beginning the hike to our next destination: Antler Point.

On the way to Antler Point

Didn't really know how to get there. I glanced at the map the day prior and saw a canyon in between Checkerboard and Crazy Quilt Mesa that looked like it led to a saddle. Antler Point sat a tad to the south from this saddle. Seemed like it was an easy walk. Seemed. Looks can be deceiving, especially on a map. We'd have to see the terrain for ourselves, put an image to all those crazy contour lines. 

And so we hiked into the canyon, steep and precipitous sandstone walls towering above us. This thing was much more scenic than the gully that led to the saddle between Checkerboard and Artifact Mesa. Much longer, much larger, more open, more "wild." We sauntered on through, avoiding pools of water, sticking to a well-worn use trail most of the way. Why such a well-worn use trail existed in a canyon such as this is beyond me. Perhaps it leads to something interesting. I don't know. Certainly didn't lead to Antler Point, that's for sure. 

Sauntering though the canyon

The saddle appears

Looking back at the canyon from the saddle

Antler Point from the saddle

Clouds began to inhabit the infinite expanse of blue above our heads, casting dark shadows on the precipitous walls around us. We continued along, following the use trail as it snaked its way up the canyon. The saddle came into view, the whole thing painted in shadow from an overhead cloud. Nearly there, nearly there. And we approached the base of the saddle and the use trail kinda disappeared for a moment, but sticking to the right seemed to do the trick and we found it once again and followed it the rest of the way to the top. Once there, we could see our destination rising in the distance, shining bright in the afternoon sunlight, still a good ways off. We took a small break, snapped some photos, and then proceeded down the saddle, leaving a couple cairns on the ground for our return. 

Off the saddle, down the use trail, walking from shadow to sun to shadow. The use trail curved to the left and we decided to leave it at this point, traversing across some colorful sandstone, making a beeline towards antler point. Through slickrock and sand we climbed farther and farther, eventually cresting a small rise and getting our first close look of our destination. Still a ways off. Man. This thing plays tricks on the mind. No matter how far we went, the thing never looked any closer.

Leaving the use trail, heading across slickrock

Lookin' back

Antler Point

But like all mountains, Antler Point is simply mound of earth and stone and not an illusion of the mind that one cannot reach. Putting one foot in front of the other got us there soon enough, the two of us scampering up to the top lickety split. There was one, very brief section of easy class 3 near the summit; this can likely be avoided. But we were impatient and kinda worn out from the sandy, brushy trek through the high desert and a bit of scrambling simply seemed like the most pleasant thing in the world at that point. So we scampered on up the stone, obtained the pointy summit, no register, no benchmark, no sign of any recent human visitation, no indication whatsoever as to why this peak earned the moniker "Antler Point." 

A strong breeze kicked up, clouds raced across the sky to the north, the things big and dark and vomiting rain in short little bursts, bumbling around the sky in a lackadaisical manner. Storm clouds they were, storm clouds with a heavy hangover. Nothing much to worry about. We didn't pay them no mind. 

Easy (probably avoidable) class 3

Nippletop and Co. from Antler Point

Parunuweap Canyon

East

Crazy Quilt (left) and Checkerboard (right)

Everything was sunshine and brightness off to the east, west and south, the colors of the desert dazzling and vibrant, the views of the surrounding country the best we'd seen all day. We lingered for a few moments, snapped more photos. Coulda stayed there the whole rest of the afternoon. But there was more to see, more to do. I asked Anner if he was down for one more summit. He looked around, shrugged, and said "yeah." And so we gathered our things, said goodbye to Antler Point, and continued our aimless wandering through the high desert, moseying along through sand and dirt and and gullies and hillocks and brush and pines and sticks and cactus and flowers and animal footprints and thorns and pokey things and soft things, hard things, slippery sandstone, colorful sandstone, sandstone with lines in it, sandstone so brittle you could break off a piece and crumble it into dust between your fingers.

Wandering towards "Artifact Arch Peak"

And what was it that we were wandering to? Where were our desert ramblings taking us? What was this final summit of the day? Artifact Arch Peak. That's what. Seldom visited. Hardly known. Not too prominent, not too noticeable. Just a big ol' mound of crumbly sandstone. As we wandered over to it I began to feel some slight apprehension. Its west face looked sketchy as all get out. Super steep, super crumbly. If the rest of the mountain looked like that, then there was a good chance it might've been out of the cards for the day.

But mountains are peculiar and where one side is terrifying the other could be completely mellow. Artifact Arch Peak was no different. Anner and I climbed up out of a wash, wrapped around the southern side of the peak, and then began ascending it from the southeast. A wee bit steep, but nothing too insane. We wrapped around to the east, found a steep, wide gully of sorts, the terrain on this side much more agreeable, the going no worse than class 2. Loose, steep, crumbly class 2, but class 2 nonetheless. Aha. We were gonna make it. 

Ascending from the southeast

Class 2 on the east side

Heading up the last little chunk to the summit

Onward and upward. We gained a ridge, following it north to the summit. Like all of the other peaks that day, this one was unmarked, registerless, not a single sign of human visitation anywhere to be seen, recent or otherwise. Makes sense though. Why anyone would want to wander wayyy off the beaten path to climb this jumbled mound of crumbly white sandstone is beyond me. I don't even know why we climbed it to be honest. 

But we had done it and we were satisfied and we wandered a bit to the north, descending a bit, heading to a shady spot underneath a scraggily pine with terrific views of Checkerboard Mesa and the namesake arch after which the peak was named. 

The summit

The namesake arch

Crazy country, big country. Checkerboard Mesa dominated the scene, the thing looking like a gargantuan cruise ship, an impossibly sized cruise ship, one so large I had to take a panoramic photo just to capture the whole thing. And the small peaklet just south of Artifact Mesa rose directly north like a huge, bulbous skyscraper, the arch near its summit a looking glass through which we could spy the drunken clouds dancing around in the sky. Artifact Arch Peak itself has no arch, which makes the name a tad confusing. Maybe "Arch View Peak" would be a better fit, but I ain't good with naming things. 

We sat around, poured the sand out of our shoes. The day was growing long, the shadows increasing. Time to head on back. And so we stood up, grabbed our things, waved goodbye to the arch, and then set off down the mountain, taking a different line of descent. A loose, crumbly, slightly precarious moment later and we were back to wandering in the desert, wrapping around the southern tip of Checkerboard Mesa, heading back towards the saddle, back to the canyon, back to the car.

A lifejacket in the desert...

Heading back to the saddle...

And it was a long walk and an uneventful walk and the sky turned gray one moment and was blue another and the hungover storm clouds were polite enough to hold their stomachs while they passed overhead and then they disintegrated into nothing, the party over, the day coming to a close. And we made it back to the car and I offered Anner some trailmix and he finally accepted my offer and we munched on honey roasted peanuts and pumpkin seeds and pretzel sticks the rest of the way down the road, out of the park. 

And it was Cinco de Mayo after all and what better way to celebrate than to drive into town and get some good ol' Indian food. And we drove into town and the parking lot was empty and we walked up to the door and it said that they were closed Tuesdays. Damn. And so we drove farther into town and stopped at a Thai place and munched on some pineapple fried rice and green curry and massaman curry and that was that. 

'Twas a day well spent. Lots of scenery, lots of brush and dirt and ups and downs and aimless wandering and rambling. Wouldn't have it any other way. 

A Pathetic Attempt of South Guardian Angel

05/04/26

Late start, 11:36am. Mean looking clouds floated high above, some especially dark, threatening rain. Driving up the steep curves of the KTR, I was overcome with a nagging feeling that the day would not work out the way it was supposed to. With a late start, hardly any prep and very little research on the route, I had successfully combined the prime ingredients for a day of complete failure. I could feel it in my bones, but I kept on driving anyway. 

And I pulled into the parking lot for the Wildcat Canyon Trailhead and I grabbed my pack and set off down the trail, the skies gray, the wind sharp, the air filled with the vibrations of impending failure. My mind wasn't in it to win it. I wasn't confident in the slightest. But I figured I might as well try. It was the least I could do.

And what was it that I was gonna try? Good ol' South Guardian Angel. I've been meaning to check this one out ever since I first laid eyes on it while driving up the KTR. I got an even better view of it when I climbed North Guardian back in March, a more technically challenging mountain that has a significantly easier approach. I saw South Guardian in the distance. Saw its beautiful northeast ridge, a true "sidewalk in the sky." An exquisite mountain, absolutely stunning. I knew I had to check it out. Too bad I didn't look too hard at the approach though. If I did, I might have had second thoughts...

First view of South Guardian

I walked along the trail, making a right towards the Northgate Peaks Overlook. Miles and smiles, smiles and miles. I'd done this section of trail so many times I didn't even notice the time passing, the clouds shifting overhead, the dark patches moving this way and that. Simply hikin' in cruise control. Yessiree Bob. Legs moving, feet shuffling, mind wandering. That was the name of the game.

And then I made it to the overlook and hit up the ol' use trail, wandering to the east, approaching a low saddle of sorts between North Guardian and this little knob of reddish sandstone. Once past the saddle I was gifted with my first view of South Guardian, the thing still long ways off. Alright. Easy part done. Now the real trekkin' could begin.

Somewhere horribly off route...

I'd imagined there would be a pretty well-worn use trail snaking its way down into the Left Fork of North Creek. If not, then at least a handful of cairns here and there. Well, this was not the case. No trail, no cairns. I don't know if I'm just bad at hide and seek, or maybe I'm just a terrible observer, or perhaps I lack the patience, or maybe it was just destiny, I don't know. Whatever the case, I couldn't find a trace of a use trail or a single dang cairn for the life of me, so I kinda just wandered down the steep slickrock terrain with a vague understanding to move slightly east the farther I descended. 

Of course, this did not work. I'd get down into cliffy and brushy terrain, the route obviously incorrect, and I'd stand around, put my arms on my hips, say "yep" and then turn around and hike back up. I did this a couple of times, each one sucking away my morale like a data center does water in a desert. Things were not looking good.

But alas! Finally, finally, I managed to find a cairn, and then—behold—another cairn, and then, ahh yes, a faint use trail, hallelujah. Just when things were getting sour, salvation arrived in the form of little stacks of rocks and dusty footprints.

But then the thing petered out almost immediately and I was back to sloggin' it down through the cliffs, not even close to the bottom of the Left Fork, South Guardian far, far away. It was after 1:30pm. I sat down, ate a PB&J, looked at the views, gazed at the heavens, and accepted my defeat. Had to call it. Yup. This approach got the best of me. 'Twas a mighty pathetic attempt to be sure. Gonna have to come back some day and try it for real. Earlier start, more research, a stronger mindset. 

The view from where I turned around

South Guardian...I'll come back one day...

So, now what? Had to do something. Couldn't wallow in the juices of my own self-loathing on the side of the canyon all day long. Had to do something. Why not try another peak that had eluded me, one that's been at the back of my mind ever since I failed to reach its summit over a month ago. I'm talkin' about good ol' Little Northgate Peak of course, the little nubbin that shut me down after my exciting ascent of North Guardian back on March 30th. Had to give it another go. And so I stood up, brushed the dust off my seat, took one last look around, and then began the slow ascent through confusing terrain back to the saddle. 

East Northgate (left), Little Northgate (right)

After an uneventful slog through brush and steep slickrock, I finally made it back to the saddle, the clouds still churning up above, the wind picking up, the sky teasing rain. East Northgate rose ahead, Little Northgate flanking its eastern side. I waved at them. Pointed at Little Northgate. I'm comin' for you Little Northgate. Ain't nothin' gonna stop me now. 

And I descended a mellow slickrock bowl into a narrow wash/gully/whatever-you-call-it, the thing filled with patches of brown, murky water. And I crossed the gully and began hikin' up to Little Northgate's southern ridge, the going slightly brushy, slightly loose, nothin' too crazy.  

Ascending out of the gully, false summit left

Looking back at North Guardian, quite imposing from this angle

Little Northgate Summit

Goin' up and up, I eventually gained the southern ridge, North Guardian rising off to the west, its northeast side lookin' quite unclimbable from this angle. I turned my gaze back to the ridge at hand and proceeded on what turned out to be a steep, somewhat loose slog the rest of the way to Little Northgate's pointy summit. I decided to stay east of the ridge, avoiding exceptionally loose and exposed nonsense on the western side. Perhaps there's an easier route on the western side a bit farther down, but I didn't look and didn't care. Lingering to the east worked out just fine.

After a bit, I cut to the west a little ways, now walking pretty much dead center on the ridge, following it through sandy and brushy terrain to the summit. Once there, I sat down, ate another PB&J, contemplated whether or not it was gonna rain, and stared at the views to the southwest, South Guardian taunting me in the distance. Taunting? Nah. It was standing completely indifferent to my existence, not a care in the world. I pointed at it. Said I'd be back one day. It didn't listen. How could it? It don't got no ears. 

East(ish)

Southwest

East Northgate from Little Northgate

Sitting there on the summit, I figured it was gonna rain. I waited one minute, two minutes. The dark clouds softened. The sky loosened up. The heavens became wispy and silky, the atmosphere the color of tin. And then little splotches of blue popped up and I knew, then and there, that it definitely wasn't gonna rain. Remind me to never become a meteorologist. I'd be far too wishy-washy. 

Satisfied with finally getting to visit Little Northgate, I guzzled down some water, took one last look around, and then retraced my steps off the mountain. I hopped back down the ridge, jumped into the gully, moseyed on through the slickrock bowl, followed a use trail to the Northgate Peaks Overlook, hit the main trail, zoomed on out there, the skies gentle, the weather excellent, the day a mixture of success and failure.

Hikin' up the slickrock bowl, East Northgate right

Back on the trail

In the car, driving down the road. I was bored. Felt like I had to do more, like I had to redeem myself in some way. Plus I couldn't let this fantastic weather go to waste. So I decided to check out a few minor peaks on the way back home, little nubbins that sit just off the road, all of them short little jaunts. Spendlove Knoll, an old, brush-encrusted cinder cone was the first of these little nubbins that I encountered while driving down the KTR. I pulled off the side of the road, chugged more water, and then began a short and brushy walk to the summit.

Spendlove Knoll

A tad brushy

There was no route, no use trail. No need. The thing was real short. Just followed animal trails through the brush, some a little more well-defined than others. The brush lessened near the summit, the views surprisingly good. A small stack of rocks and a USGS benchmark marked the highpoint. No register, no sign of any recent human visitation. I spent roughly 2 minutes up there, spinning around, absorbing the scene. And then it was a brief bushwhack back to the car and off to the next little nubbin' of the day, the provisional "Bobbie Knoll."

Spendlove Knoll summit

South

Northeast

Sitting just northwest of Lambs Knoll, the unassuming "Bobbie Knoll" rises up out of the ground, a gentle, somewhat brushy mound of cinders and dirt that sees very little visitation. Really no reason to go up there, as I soon found out. I pulled into the parking lot for Lambs Knoll, got out of the car, and made a beeline towards the summit. I walked through some unoccupied campsites, weaved around some sage and brush and stuff, hit the gentle incline, and kinda just moseyed on up to the top. No register, no benchmark, just some old, broken glass that's been there for who knows how long. Not much of a view from Bobbie Knoll; the whole thing is covered in scraggily pinyon pines. 

Bobbie Knoll

Bobbie Knoll summit

Back in the parking lot, back down the road. My eyes scanned the horizon, moving to and fro, noting the various landmarks, trying to find just one more nubbin to explore. They finally settled on a formation known as "North Moqui," a precarious, jumbled mass of boulders and brush that caught my fancy for whatever strange reason. Perhaps I expected it to be like Moqui Peak. If it was anything like that, then I'd be in for one hell of a jaunt, however short it was. Curious to find out, I pulled off the side of the road and then eagerly began a short walk through the desert to the base of this most interesting lump of rocks and brush. 

Approaching North Moqui

While I was driving on the road, I spent a little time trying to figure out the best route to the summit. I saw a steep, rocky, brushy chute on the peak's northeast side that seemed to be the most viable option. So as I was walkin' through the desert, dodging cacti and juniper branches, the peak growing larger in view, it was this northeast chute I was aiming for, the thing lookin' like a tricky route for sure but entirely passable. At least, that's what I thought.

The brushy northeast chute

I entered a dry wash, climbed up out of it, and then started the uphill slog to the base of the northeast chute. Heading over, the thing looked steep, brushy, a bit precarious, definitely a tad more exciting than I had imagined. But imagination can only take you so far. Maybe it was actually pretty mellow. Only one way to find out. 

I began climbing up the chute, the initial section incredibly steep and loose. I used the ample brush inhabiting the chute to haul myself up, the going steep but nothing crazy. And then I encountered what turned out to be the "crux" of the route, a brief and interesting bout of steep class 3. I kinda just climbed straight up the thing, ducking under the bushes at the top, using them for support. Once past this section it was a steep, brief bushwhack the rest of the way to the summit.

Class 3 crux

Interesting rock formation

I reached the summit plateau, the thing covered in multiple stacks of boulders rising this way and that. I climbed up on top of one, immediately found it to be a false summit, the true summit rising just a bit to the south. I hopped down the thing, making my way towards the true summit. There were a few options available to reach the top, none of them particularly easy. I decided to approach it from the north, hopping up a tricky section that required some funky moves to gain the summit block. A little challenging for sure, but luckily it wasn't too exposed. 

North Moqui summit, I climbed up from the bottom left

The tricky section

Wow, what a peak. Easily my favorite of the day. Though it wasn't as insane as the slightly taller Moqui Peak to the south, it still offered plenty of excitement. Lots of brush. Lots of steep terrain. A wee bit of scrambling. Ample rock formations. Cool boulders. Cool views. I plopped down on the summit block, the thing nice and wide, the weather nice and and cool. Time for a break. I sat, I looked, I pondered, I gazed. That's all there was too it.

Looking towards Moqui Peak 

Tab Dome (left) South Guardian (right)

North, Lambs Knoll left

Southwest

Puffy clouds, the sky a layer of gray, a light breeze, the high desert sprawling before me, a peaceful scene, a good scene, a fantastic way to end the day. Didn't wanna leave though. That's how you know it's a good summit. It's always the ones that you wish you could linger on top of for days and days, watching the sunrise and sunset and everything in between, watching the colors shift, the shadows passing over everything. But one must always leave the mountain. That's just the way it goes. And so I retraced my steps back to the car, hopping down that tricky section on the summit block, entering the northeast chute, sliding down through brush and loose rock, down climbing the class 3 crux, exiting the chute, wandering through the desert. I got back to the car, covered in sweat and dirt and some lingering thorns and sticks and leaves that had hitched a ride on my person. Started 'er up. Drove on out of there, windows down, music in the air. 

Looking down the class 3 crux

Wandering through the high desert...

It was a weird day with weird emotions and weird sensations. Definitely my most pathetic attempt of a mountain, that's for sure. I suppose my main error was not really wanting to do it in the first place. Deep down, somewhere in the aortic valve or something, there's a desire to climb a mountain, or to do something challenging or something like that. There's a want. An urge. An aim. There's a need to complete an objective, and the need fuels the brain, and the brain tells the body what to do. I did not have the need that morning. My mind wasn't in it. Wasn't the right time. 

But there will be other times. Just gotta get out there and climb it when I feel like it's right. As for the other peaks of the day, I really don't ever see myself visiting them again, all except for North Moqui. That was a goodun.